


Pocketful of Foreign Change

by pollinia



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Dreams, F/M, Holocaust, M/M, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3509315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollinia/pseuds/pollinia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik dreams and he dreams of the camps and in the camps he meets a boy he both should and shouldn't know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pocketful of Foreign Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arcanewinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanewinter/gifts).



Erik dreams and he dreams of the camps and in the camps he meets a boy he both should and shouldn't know.

_(He also has a pocket full of coins. That seems important.)_

The boy tags along, silent, and they weave their bodies through crowds of people, dirty, hungry. Erik thinks there's something he should be doing instead--everything just feels so _light_ \--there must be more to the world than walking with this boy. But it doesn't seem like it's hurting anything, so he doesn't stop.

He wakes in a hotel in Prague, sweat-drenched, and when Raven shifts against him, their skin sticks together.

***

He lets himself fall asleep on the train through Lithuania.

In his dream, the boy is back. They never talk, but Erik thinks he knows what the boy's voice would sound like if they did. Instead, they meet eyes, sneak through the throng like thieves and steal away behind slouching wooden structures, hiding out from the rain.

_(It is always raining.)_

Sometimes, the boy reaches into the pocket of his crisp, clean coat and pulls out a package of candy.

Sometimes, it is a pack of cigarettes, a flask, tokens of a childhood Erik could only ever dream _(Ha.)_ of having. Together, they eat ravenously, they smoke, they drink like boys. Though, sometimes, the boy just watches, keen eyes and a confident tilt to his lips. Erik keeps hoping next time the boy will bring coins he can to add to his collection. He is always disappointed.

The boy isn't handsome except for when he is.

***

And then there's Kyiv, new recruits, no wonder with the poisoned ground, the evolutionary driving force seeping into every cell of every body. There's Kyiv and Raven takes him out to a field, says, _Lie down,_ says, _Don't worry, it can't hurt us now,_ and she presses her lips to his, trying on this invisible skin of confidence, though he knows she's always seeking his approval.

He falls asleep there.

In his dreams, the boy has started to smile. Something warmer coloring the lifted corners of his lips, washing out the curiosity, the smugness, and turning it into something like affection. The boy smiles and, for a moment, Erik thinks his mouth may be capable of that as well. He's always been a good mimic.

Instead, he finds his mouth can do other things, better things maybe, because the boy kisses him, pulling that clean blue coat up over both of their heads, as much for hiding as it is protection from the rain. The boy kisses like they aren't surrounded by corpses, walking or otherwise.

When the boy pulls away, he looks at Erik pensively and swipes a thumb over his bottom lip. Erik's pockets feel lighter. He can't figure out why until his friend walks away, flipping a single, rusty coin off his thumb again and again.

***

_(Sometime between Hungary and Croatia, he stops pretending. He stops pretending he crashes into hotels like a sizzling meteorite and tumbles headlong into sleep for any reason other than these dreams.)_

***

Raven is partial to Lyon, likes the smell of lemons in the air. In a bar, she sits close to him, she flirts with him like they are strangers, and really it's not too far from the truth. He lets her. He's not moved by the attention, but he likes the way it keeps their cover.

Erik won't say it, but he is afraid she'll want to go back to the States soon. She'll want to go and, as much as she needs validation from him, she'd go without him if he refused. He likes the company, likes _people_ , strangely enough. It unsettles him. Makes him angry. He thinks, if he were stronger, he'd tell her to leave. Put her on a train without explanation. He doesn't need her except that he does.

He finishes his drink in a determined swallow and goes to bed early and alone.

He dreams of tattered bunks, the boy's breath, the closeness of bodies. He dreams of smiles that are always too warm. Dreams of the boy's pockets clinking as he walks away.

***

Lisbon and the ocean and the world suddenly seems so big and so small. Just this little sliver of coastline and a body of water that could swallow every human life and sigh politely before asking for seconds. Raven sits on the beach. Erik watches from a hotel window, pulls the curtains. Falls asleep.

 _(He's not enough of a fool to pretend he doesn't know. He knows. He knows, but that doesn't mean he has to do anything about it.)_

But maybe he will. 

He waits for the boy in their spot, beneath the leaking awning of a shed. He waits and, for a long time, the boys doesn't show. It's as if Erik's waiting is a force keeping the boy away, an untintentional lucid dreaming.

But the boy comes. He comes, smiling but wary, and instead of a kiss in greeting, he stands back, hands in the pockets of his nice, blue, rich-boy coat, safe-boy, free-boy, lucky-boy coat.

Erik doesn't say anything, but he feels words press against this throat. They sound like, _Give it back._ But they never say anything, so he stays quiet. Instead, he takes a deep, steadying breath, and, without warning, he throws his body at the other boy.

They land in the mud. The rain kicks up the wet dirt all around them, pools in the depressions made by their bodies. He throws a punch, weak, ineffective, and really he's not sure if he had intended for it to connect very well or not. Just to get that fucking coat _dirty_ is enough.

The boy doesn't try to buck him off. It's like he's never been in a fight before. He doesn't cover his face. He just presses his hands to Erik's chest. The warmth pulses through his thin, ragged shirt and Erik does his best to ignore it. 

He drives his fist down again, a solid connection this time, and the boy spits out blood, saliva. 

A coin, silver and shining. It hits the ground and spins on its axis, catching the sun. _(It has stopped raining.)_

Erik's breath catches in his throat. He watches it as the axis tilts, the rotations coming slower and wider until the coin wobbles to a stop on top of the now-dry dirt.

The boy looks up at him, bloodied, his right eye swollen shut.

"Erik, no," he says and they are the only words they've spoken in this dream space. The words sound distant now, the voice deeper, as if it's coming to him from very far away, from under water.

Erik draws back again, wonders just what might come out this time.

What might come out if he hit him, again and again and again.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Iron & Wine's "Wolves (Song the Shepherd's Dog)".
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://polliniaa.tumblr.com)!


End file.
